It was a Saturday afternoon, Quezon City was drizzling, the air was damp and cold. I was lying on the sofa when I heard a knock on the door. The person who opened the door was Ama – my father-in-law. He was thin but strong, holding a gray cloth bag tightly. The smell of boiled chicken with calamansi leaves wafted through the air, making me frown slightly because of morning sickness.

He placed the bag on the dining table, speaking slowly:
– “Ama brought some things from probinsya for you. I heard that you have morning sickness, and you only eat outside food, Ama is worried.”

I nodded, touched, but did not open it immediately. However, his eyes kept looking silently at the bag, hesitant and waiting. A hunch made me bend down, gently loosening the frayed string.

Inside was a cleaned rooster, a few bunches of Bulacan herbs, and a small black plastic bag the size of a hand. Before I could react, the black bag fell off the edge of the table and onto the ground, making a soft “pop” sound. I bent down to pick it up, but Ama quickly said:

– “Don’t open it. Wait for Marco to come back, Ama has something to tell you.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became heavy. I held the black bag in my arms, half curious, half worried.

When Marco came back, Ama was still sitting there, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. After a moment of silence, he let out a soft sigh:
– “Ama won’t hide it anymore. Ama was diagnosed with stage 3 stomach cancer. The doctor said that if treated aggressively, she could live a few more years. But the cost… you guys understand.”

I was stunned. Marco stood still, his lips pressed tightly together. I opened the black bag with trembling hands – inside was a BDO bank passbook in Marco’s name, a balance of nearly ₱600,000, and a stack of medical documents. That was the money Ama had saved for many years, from her pension, from selling chickens, and from raising a baboy in the countryside.

– “Ama is afraid that I won’t live long. Ama has saved it here to pay for the hospital fees, it will help us when you give birth.”

I burst into tears. Not out of despair, but out of emotion. That quiet, strict man turned out to have spent his whole life silently taking care of us.

After that day, the atmosphere in the house changed. I tried harder, not letting myself sink into fatigue. Even though I was still pregnant, I tried to help Marco in the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Ama moved in with me, and every morning she did exercises in the yard, sometimes teaching my eldest child to water the plants and pick vegetables.

Once, I accidentally heard him calling an old friend:

– “Hindi na ako magpapa-chemo. Save for the kids to have children. I live as long as I can.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I quietly sent the medical records to a specialist I knew in Makati. Fortunately, after many consultations, he was introduced to a new treatment method, with fewer side effects, more suitable.

My family sat down together to persuade me. For the first time, I saw Ama in tears:

– “Ama is not afraid of dying. Ama is only afraid of… becoming a pabigat.”

Marco hugged him tightly:

– “Ama is alive for the blessing of her children and grandchildren. No one considers Ama a burden.”

He nodded. From that day on, he started treatment. Even though he was getting weaker, he still said kwento sa bata, reminded me to take prenatal vitamins, and even teased Marco: “Mas tamad ka kaysa sa Ama nung bata pa.”

And then the miracle happened.

My baby girl was born on the day Ama finished her third treatment. In the hospital room, he was trembling, holding his granddaughter in his arms, his eyes shining. As if all the pain has disappeared, leaving only hope and love.

Not every bag contains only things. There are bags that silently contain sacrifices, a lifetime of love, and only when opened, do we feel its full weight.

Families are never perfect. But as long as we don’t let go of each other’s hands, miracles will always have a reason to come.